


elves and hunters

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [47]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Identity Reveal, M/M, Secret Identity, he’s technically a villain...t e c h n i c a l l y, kind of, newt’s an elf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: “Hey!” shouts a familiar voice. “Hey, you bastard, over here!”It’s Newton. Idiotic, hero-wannabe, infuriatingly self-preservation-instinct-lacking Newt. Hermann could scream—though in joy or frustration, he’s not sure. Either way, he’s losing consciousness quickly, the sticky, sweet scent of blood heavy in his nose.There’s a hand on his cheek, Newt’s worries face swimming before his vision, and, voice panicked, he yells, “Jaeger? Jaeger! Dude, you gotta stay with me now, don’t—”





	elves and hunters

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: “omg i love your stuff! since you're taking prompts, can you do “I’m a superhero and you want to be like me but in doing so become a supervillain, what do you mean you don’t understand why I’m punching you?””

 Hermann’s fist misses the elf—elf? he’s not sure; the man certainly has the pointy ears for it, and moving tattoos, but he could be a goblin for all Hermann knows—, the air crackling, the taste of ozone, and the possibly-elf shoots him a confused look.

“Dude!” he shouts, “dude, what the _fuck?_ Why are you punching me—?” He doesn’t manage to duck the next blow, Hermann’s elbow connecting with his midsection, and he lets out a winded _oof_.

“Seriously,” he pants, “can we just—talk about this—?”

Despite himself, Hermann’s brow furrows, and he finds himself answering. “Talk about what, exactly? You’re a criminal—”

“Am not!” contradicts the other hotly. “I’m—I’m helping people! Like you!”

“You’re a villain,” Hermann contradicts coolly, and the moment of indignant sputtering on the other’s part is enough for Hermann to finally knock him out and clap a universal inhibitor on his wrist and hand him over to the authorities.

He doesn’t stay in long—they never do, and so Hermann’s not really really surprised when, a week later, he gets an alert about a break-in at a high-brow tech company by the newly christened—courtesy of the media—Emissary.

“That’s a ridiculous name,” he points out, because apparently he does this now, banters with the people he fights. “Pretentious.”

“Eh,” the other replies noncommittally, leaps out of the way of Hermann’s crackling lightning-bolt shot, and hops up onto a desk that’s somehow managed to remain upright. “Stupid name, good intentions.” 

Hermann scoffs. “You’re trying to steal a hard-drive of plans.”

“Yeah, cause the company is trying to keep the instructions for repair from the public so that when their stuff breaks, they have to buy a brand-new one,” the other shoots back. “I’m doing good—helping the common person.”

Hermann still wins, but the other’s words weigh heavy on his mind even after his face disappears behind the door of a police cruiser, red and blue flashing as it pulls away.

The next time they meet, Hermann almost doesn’t recognise him; he certainly doesn’t recognise Hermann, dressed in civies and hunched over. It’s in a park, of all places; Emissary is missing his trademark red-lensed sunglasses and skin-tight costume, and he almost knocks Hermann over.

“Dude, I am _so_ sorry,” he rushes out, stumbling over his words—and his feet—bending over to grab Hermann’s fallen books and awkwardly hands them to Hermann. “I’m just—clumsy—”

At this, he finally topples over and onto Hermann before leaping away, face flushed. “Indeed,” Hermann comments drily, and the other’s face, already scarlet, goes crimson.

“Hey!” he protests. “Hey, I—” he flounders for a defence, and Hermann—partially unsuccessfully—bites back a smirk. Instead, the man says, “I’m Newt.”

Hermann’s lip twitches. “Your parents named you after an amphibian.”

“No!  _Isaac_ Newton,” the elf— _Newton—_ huffs. 

Hermann shakes his head. “Well, either way, Newton, I must be off.”

As he walks away, Newt calls after him, “Hey! Hey, you going to give me your name?”

_Absolutely not_ , says the rational part of his mind. _He’s attractive, though, and…kind,_ protests the other. He ruthlessly quashes that part down, fiddling with the head of his cane.

They keep meeting, both in and out of civies, and Hermann…well, he grows _fond_ of the elf—well, half-elf, as he learns—, for lack of a better term. While his attempts to stop the self-proclaimed Robin Hood don’t _stop_ —Newt _is_ a felon, after all—his blows don’t hit as hard.

Embarrassing as it is to admit, he has a bit of a soft spot for Newt.

Which, incidentally, leads to him to, instead of saying _no_ , sharply, as he should, when the other, beaming sheepishly at him, hands him a scrap of paper and says, “Call _me?_ ” as if surprised by his own forwardness.

“Um,” Hermann says, “er.”

And then, trying not to seem like he’s fleeing, he—well, he flees.

They don’t bump into each other for a few weeks after, Hermann pointedly, and partially to prove to himself that he _can_ , ignores the paper, and the number written on it.

So when they run into each other, it’s—a shock, to say the least. Hermann is dealing with a slightly trickier-than-usual earth-elemental (or something. He’s not quite sure).

Nothing is out of the ordinary, really, until he misses the minute tell of a bluff and his head is slammed against concrete, black spots skittering across his swimming vision, and he can’t stand—

“Hey!” shouts a familiar voice. “ _Hey_ , you bastard, over here!”

It’s Newton. Idiotic, hero-wannabe, infuriatingly self-preservation-instinct-lacking _Newt_. Hermann could scream—though in joy or frustration, he’s not sure. Either way, he’s losing consciousness quickly, the sticky, sweet scent of blood heavy in his nose.

There’s a hand on his cheek, Newt’s worries face swimming before his vision, and, voice panicked, he yells, “Jaeger? Jaeger! Dude, you gotta stay with me now, don’t—”

Hermann reaches out weakly to grasp the front of Newt’s ridiculous Hawaiian-print shirt and without thinking, rasps, “Sorry I didn’t call.”

Darkness drags him down, the last thing he sees before the nothingness envelopes him Newt’s Confusion morphing into—

He coughs violently, the breath rattling in his lungs, the strength gone from his limbs. There’s movement in his periphery, and then a cup oppressed to his lips. “Drink.”

Hermann does so, too tired to protest, gulping the water like a dying man in a desert, a small trickle trailing down his chin and neck in his eagerness. The cup disappears, and Hermann opens his mouth, swallows, and manages to croak, “What…?”

“I can’t believe you almost died on me, you bastard,” Newt hisses, eyes red-rimmed. “Do you _know_ what it was like to pull back your mask when I realized you’d stop breathing? How—how fucking _terrifying_ it was?”

“…sorry,” Hermann murmurs, lips dry and cracked, drops his gaze to the bedsheets. He’s—in a bedroom, three or four pillows propped up to allow him to lean against them.

There’s a sniffle, and then Newt’s cradling his face in his hands. “You’re okay,” he says, voice choked. “You’re—you’re okay.”

Uncertain of what to say, Hermann remains silent, but he does raise a hand to cover the other’s, waits for his tears to run their course. When Newt’s breathing has finally evened out, he says, “You know, this isn’t how I expected to get you into my bed.”

It startles a painful bark of laughter out of Hermann. “Well,” he replies, “you’ll get a second chance as soon as i’ve healed up properly.”

Newt beams.


End file.
